Plain of White

by Ethan Cheung

Edited by Adelaide Wong & Rachel Shin

Dawn broke as the rising sun peeked over the towering peaks of the mountain range, rays of light reaching into the vale below and warding the last of the fading darkness away. Snow-carpeted plains and slopes glittered in the morning luster, giving the mountains a sparkling sheen that seemingly highlighted the entire range with multiple glimmering colors. Slowly, the light advanced over frozen lakes, white-blanketed pines, and frosted icicles, before illuminating a wooden structure in a pine forest. Located in the middle of a clearing, the log cabin was constructed from the trees nearby, with spots of a lighter colour decorating the exterior after the original reddish-brown bark had flaked off. Sharp icicles hung from the roof, arranged like the teeth of some wintery beast, while a pile of powdery snow lay on top. Inside, a man began to stir on his mattress of wood.

It’s so cold, he thought. Shivering, Bylur glanced back at the fireplace, which contained nothing more than a burnt heap of blackened sticks. It was too bright. He quickly shut his eyes but opened them up just a crack as an attempted to adjust to the piercing morning light. Sluggishly, the hunter-gatherer got up, sat up, yawned, stretched, and then swung his feet off the bed, before heading to a nearby table to don his furry wardrobe. As he walked, a bundle of black and white fur rose, mouth opening wide and legs stretching. Rows of sharp white teeth were briefly visible until the mouth snapped shut again, blue eyes squinting at the sun’s glare. Bylur wore his clothes and threw on a thick blue woolen coat, not forgetting to grab a bow and a quiver of arrows as he headed out. “Come on, Isolfr,” he called out to the canine with a gravelly voice. “It’s time to head out”. Delicate snow crunched under his boots as he stepped out of the cabin, the morning greeting him with a soft radiance from the sky. Quickly, light footsteps from behind and a flash of black in the corner of his vision told Bylur that Isolfr had begun to follow him.

Together they trudged through the niveous woodland, keeping an ear out for the telltale rustle of a caribou wandering through the forest or the splash of fish in the freezing river. However, the forest seemed unusually scarce of food on that particular day. The rushing river was drained of its usual supply of black-spotted rainbow trout. The few peculiarly yellow-spotted fish that did appear dashed past his line, steadfastly ignoring the hunter’s bait. He spotted very little game roaming in the woods too. For much of the day, hunter and dog traveled the area, on the lookout for something, anything he could eat. The situation reminded him of something. Of himself. He had not always led a life of a hunter-gatherer out in the freezing wild. He had been a regular person, in a settlement located by a mountain pass. But after it and its people had been completely vaporized in The Burning, he had been forced to flee and live out here alone. With a dog, yes, but in solitude, without the companionship of another. But the memories stayed with him. Crack. The splintering and melting of wood and steel alike, groaning structures struggling to stay up. Bang. Cries of pain and choking pleas, while the scent of burning flesh filled the air. Boom. The view of his former home, lit aglow by those malevolent flames. The snap of a branch brought Bylur back to reality. Back from the flashback that plagued his waking hours, he remembered that they had been hunting for a good part of the day, catching and eating what they could. Isolfr was sniffing along the ground when his head suddenly shot up, limbs stiff and eyes keeping a laser focus on something in front of him. Silently, the hunting dog crept forward, lowering his head now and then to reestablish the scent of prey.

Soon enough, they came across a caribou shuffling through a pile of heavy snowfall, thin spindly legs struggling to keep the furry body above on balance, sharp and branchlike antlers waving left and right along with its fuzzy white and brown head. Strange that it was here and not with its herd, he thought. What was it doing here all alone? Had it too been separated from its herd?

Yet, food was food. Quietly, the bowman drew his weapon and nocked an arrow, shifting all of his focus onto the stumbling creature in front of him. Bylur pulled the string back, aiming the pointy tip of the arrow at the lung. Twang! The wooden projectile whistled through the air, cutting through it like a speeding bullet. But not quite fast enough. Now injured and alarmed, the caribou let out a frightened bawl, kicking up clouds of powdery snow in its haste to escape. Twang! The arrow missed once again, owing to the erratic movement of the target. It was getting away, running to the outer areas of heavy snowfall and obscured visibility. Bylur would normally have given it up at this point, but something told him that he wouldn’t find anything else if he let this one go. Twang! The final arrow buried itself into the poor caribou, which gave a final pained roar before its entire bulk collapsed onto the ground. The bowman walked up to it as Isolfr dragged the carcass across the snow. Bylur prepared to haul it back home when he caught a glimpse of something in the distance. A pulsing amber light, a star in the murky gloom of the rapidly darkening sky and obscuring snowfall. What was it? It could not be some distant star; it would not be visible in this grayness. Nor could it be a fire of any sort; it would be difficult to even start one in these conditions. No, it had to be other people. For a moment, joy filled the lonely archer’s gloomy heart and blinded him to the cynical thinking he had been bound to for years. He would see other people again. No longer would he have to wander this snow-carpeted land alone, never knowing if he would ever see another person again. He would not be alone.

Just as he was pondering this, however, he had come to another conclusion that made him frown. The distance was too far from any human settlement for any person to possibly come all the way here.

There was nothing that could be found here or was of any value to a normal person. The only people out here would be…

Just then, other details became visible in the heavy snow. The lights were much brighter now, and he could hear an oscillating hum coming from their direction. Realization struck throughout his body as quickly as the arrow that killed the caribou had flown, shifting it into a panic. He had to hide. He had to get out of here before they found him. Now.

“Here, Isolfr!” He called. “Follow me!” Leaving the dead heap behind, Bylur retreated into the cover of the white pines and crouched under the largest tree he could find. The lights expanded and brightened while the hums grew louder and the oscillations increased in intensity, to the point where it was beginning to hurt his head. Fear permeated his very being, sending it into a shaking frenzy as he huddled with Isolfr under the tree, praying that they would not spot him. The lights came closer, and closer, and closer, until a hulking metal aircraft burst through the shadowy gloom of the sky. Searchlights at the head of the vehicle were trained on the woods below, briefly illuminating the forest floor with a glaring white as it passed by. Its hull was riddled with scratches and burn marks, and the sides were adorned with mounted weapons of all sorts. Soon after, similar aircraft followed, heading off to somewhere in the darkness. What they had returned for, he did not know. Not that it mattered to him, not as long as his life was in danger. All he knew was that he had to try and get back home.

Bylur rushed through the forest with no regard for how much sound he made or if he tripped. At every loud noise, he would dive towards the nearest cover and wait for something to appear, only for nothing to happen. As he ran, other aircraft passed overhead, one that he did not notice going in the same direction he was. Soon enough, he and Isolfr had reached the area around their home when he noticed something sitting in the clearing. The wind was stronger now, making it even harder to see. As he trudged forward to get a better look, he saw them. People. Dressed in light beige and white coats and hats, wearing packs and brandishing guns coloured a dirty white and blue. Featureless white masks concealed their faces, complimenting the merciless aura that surrounds them. More were coming out of the aerial vehicle in front of him. Then, they noticed him.

Shouts of alarms. Yells. Clicking as the soldiers raised their rifles and trained their sights on Bylur. His fear had reached its peak, adrenaline surging through his body, forcing him to turn his heel and run for his life in the other direction. Then gunfire. He could hear the bullets whizzing past him, just barely missing, digging into the bark of the pine trees or ice on the ground. He ran, even as he heard a yelp of pain beside him and a frozen splash, even as the chatter of rifles behind him stopped and the shouts of his would-be killers ceased. He ran and ran, into the rising storm, the howling wind, biting frost, the slicing tempest. He sprinted and dashed until his muscles burned; until his lungs screamed for air. There he sat in the blizzard, surrounded on all sides by a deadly force, isolated. Alone. Just like that deer he had killed earlier. How had it felt, dying so far from its family and friends? The lone hunter supposed he would know now. As he felt all feeling leave him and watch his limbs slowly rot away to black, he contemplated everything he had done in his life so far. What had it amounted to?

In the distance, a lone figure approached him. It raised something, aiming it at him. There was no running now. He closed his eyes and accepted his fate.

Bylur shivered. It was so cold.